This Story Will Save Your Life
by CrystallineMaple
Summary: When Matthew Williams meets the artist and author Gilbert Beilschmidt, his life moves from bad to worse. Gilbert realizes figuring out how to save a life is a difficult thing and turns to his friends for help. But throwing in a heartbroken guy, a blind man, and a pop star might not be a good solution... PruCan, PruHun, DenNor, more.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi, everyone! I know, I know - you all are probably groaning, "Ugh, Maple is starting another fanfiction?" Let me say: This story is NOT supposed to 'save your life'! If it does, I'm really happy, but the title is referring to things that happen in the fanfiction, not real life! Also, this story takes place in Seattle (for those of you who don't know, Seattle is a popular American city famous for rainy weather and the coffee company Starbucks is based out of there), where I don't live, so if I get details wrong, I apologize. With that said, please review and enjoy!

* * *

If you had just one day to live, how would you spend it?

That's a good question. A very frequently asked question. A lot of people lie, too. Let's be honest - very few of you would actually call up your old acquaintances and say goodbye. Very few of you would actually make peace with your childhood enemies. Matthew Williams, though, was different.

He thought about this question a lot, and whenever it crossed his mind, he tried to answer it as honestly as possible. He knew that eventually, his last day would come, and he'd have to decide how to spend it. In fact, his last day was growing closer and closer. No, Matthew didn't have a sickness. He wasn't going to die in a terrible car accident, or a plane crash, or anything like that. He planned to die by choice.

Suicide. What a terrible way to die.

Not for Matthew. At least, that's what he thought, every hour of the day. He thought about his death more and more.

He didn't dare speak of his plans to anyone. He knew - _knew_ - no one would understand. They'd probably yell at him for being selfish, or say that his life wasn't all that bad.

They'd try to coax him away from the edge, and that was what Matthew wanted the least.

He was an eleventh grader in high school. American high school. His family had moved from Canada when he was fourteen. Though his mother, Amelia, was American, making him half-American by blood, he much preferred Canada. His older brother, Alfred, was nineteen - three years older than Matthew, who was sixteen - and off in college.

If you looked at Matthew, you wouldn't be able to tell he was suicidal, as with most kids. He didn't wear black eyeliner and he didn't listen to suicidal songs. Well, sad songs, sometimes. Suicidal songs, no. In truth, he looked like any average teenager, except that he was very quiet. Even that could be mistaken for simple shyness. But it wasn't.

Matthew Williams was planning. And even though you or I couldn't tell, his mind was made up.

* * *

Gilbert Beilschmidt stared out the window, watching raindrops stream down from the gray sky and splatter on the glass. Sure, sure, he knew moving to Seattle meant lots of rain. Everyone knew that. But, still, sometimes he felt himself yearning to see warm, yellow rays of sun peeking over the everyday dark clouds (his wish was usually not granted).

Gilbert had graduated from a high school a few miles out of Seattle and had moved to an apartment closer to the heart of the city. Though his parents never said anything of the sort, Gilbert felt he was somewhat of a disappointment. He hadn't gone to college; instead he had pursued art and writing, moving into his own apartment after his high school graduation and working at a local Starbucks coffee shop to pay bills. The kind of stereotypical creative-wanderer life lots of people picture artists having. It didn't help that Gilbert's younger brother was perfect in almost every aspect. But Gilbert was happy.

"Get back to work, Beilschmidt!"

Gilbert snapped out of his dreamy rain-gazing and turned to see Arthur Kirkland, one of his coworkers, fake disappointment plastered across his face. Gilbert laughed.

Arthur shook his head. "I'm serious," he said in that oh-so-condescending British accent. "You've been standing there for about five minutes. Something wrong?"

"No, no," Gilbert said, moving to wipe down a table. He made a face. "Why must people leave fifty used napkins on the table? Why can't they clean up after themselves?"

Arthur snorted. "If they could, we wouldn't be here, now would we?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Guess so."

"Your shift is almost over," Arthur said, tapping his watch. "Lucky. I'll still be stuck here, but there aren't any customers."

At that very moment, the small bells hanging above the door chimed together, signaling someone was coming inside. Gilbert heard an umbrella closing, someone wiping rain off a jacket, and, on cue...

"Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you?" Gilbert asked, looking down at the cash register for a brief moment.

Something incoherent was murmured.

Gilbert looked up to see a young man, probably a few years younger than him, standing there. He looked tired - exhausted, actually - and Gilbert felt a pang of sympathy stab his heart. He didn't know why. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Uh, a tall iced coffee," he said, just a bit louder.

"Of course. Name?"

"Matthew," came the quiet reply.

"Sure, sure," Gilbert said nervously, scribbling the name onto a paper cup. "Just a moment." Matthew nodded and silently found a seat in the empty Starbucks.

"What's up with that kid?" Arthur whispered while Gilbert was getting the coffee per request.

"I don't know," Gilbert muttered. "But once I'm done with him, I'm leaving."

"Sounds good," Arthur replied. "I hope Mathias gets here soon. Thankfully business seems slow... Well, really that's not good"-

"Yeah, yeah," Gilbert snickered, and called out, "Matthew?"

The kid shuffled up to the counter and grabbed his coffee and let out a nearly inaudible "Thanks." Gilbert forced an awkward smile, looking up from Matthew's cup of coffee to say "No problem," when -

Gilbert nearly fell backwards, grabbing the counter to steady himself. Matthew's eyes looked so hollow, so weary, so absolutely finished. Gilbert wished he hadn't looked, because he knew those fatigued eyes would be haunting him for days. Half of Gilbert wanted to say, 'Well, Matthew probably just stayed up too late studying,' or, 'Maybe he had a recent death in the family.' After all, it was none of his business.

But Gilbert forced himself to say, "Are you okay?"

Matthew's fingers tightened on the coffee cup. "Fine, thanks," he said softly, and walked out the door, Starbucks cup in one hand, open umbrella in the other.

"Arthur, I'm heading out," Gilbert called shakily. Get a hold of yourself!

"Could you tell me if that kid stops by again?" Gilbert asked.

Arthur raised one of his large eyebrows. "Sure. Why?"

"Thanks," Gilbert said, dodging the question. He grabbed his car keys and left, trying to forget those striking, hopeless eyes.

* * *

Matthew ate lunch in the library every day. At first, this annoyed Miss Anya Braginskaya, the librarian, but the more often Matthew did it, the less she seemed to mind. In fact, every lunch period, he was greeted with a hello and a smile. Matthew always smiled back, but Miss Braginskaya never seemed to notice that it was a strained smile.

Matthew chose an empty table in the back of the library near the small collection of manga books. Matthew knew that if Kiku Honda ever came into the library during lunch, he would sit in the back and eat with Matthew, reading through his favorite manga, but the two didn't talk much.

Kiku wasn't there, but Miss Braginskaya smiled and wished Matthew a 'Happy Thursday.'

Matthew sat down and got out his sandwich. He read a lot. He had worked through most of the fictional books in the library, and that day, he selected a novel about a dystopian world. He couldn't concentrate much on the book, because within the first chapter, someone had already killed themself.

Snapping the book shut, Matthew decided it would be safer to just work on his Chemistry homework instead. Despite the desire to take his own life, Matthew was very studious and tried hard in class, maintaining some of the highest marks in the grade.

But then a book caught his eye. Fairy tales. Grimm's Fairy Tales. For the rest of lunch, he read about demonic sisters who cut their heels off with knives and weird wolves and little girls.

Matthew enjoyed reading. In real life, you were who you were, and Matthew was invisible, ignored, forgotten. When he read, he could be anyone. Matthew didn't worry.

Soon, he would be gone, and it wouldn't matter if people remembered him or not.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: It appears that I'm writing the average PruCan story. Suicidal Matthew, intervening Gilbert. I'll do my best to make mine different. However, this story isn't just PruCan. There are multiple pairings and side plots. Most will come later. I just couldn't fit them all in the summary - which I updated, by the way.

* * *

Matthew sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot. School that day had been terrible. Not only was it a Monday, but Miss Braginskaya hadn't been at school, so he had been banned from the library for lunch. Kiku Honda was out sick, so Matthew was stuck eating in the cafeteria alone. He came back to Starbucks after school for a quick bite to eat before he started his homework, and some jerk had been yelling insults at the employees for five minutes straight, causing quite an unnecessary scene. The man was olive-skinned, loud, and pissed. Matthew was calling him 'The Angry Italian' in his head.

"This isn't what I ordered, idiot!" The Angry Italian shouted.

"I'm sorry, sir," the employee at the counter said. He was British, had thick eyebrows, and was growing more and more frustrated.

"You'd better be sorry! All you Starbucks employees - you're all bastards! Slow, stupid!" The Angry Italian continued berating the poor Brit for another thirty seconds before someone finally intervened.

"Fratello, would you stop! That's so mean!"

Matthew, The Angry Italian, and the British Starbucks worker all turned to see who was breaking up the little altercation. A man who looked a lot like The Angry Italian stood there. He was wearing sunglasses, a concerned facial expression, and a casual, elbow-length button-down shirt. Matthew almost snorted at the sunglasses - really? Inside on a rainy Seattle day? - until he noticed the harnessed German Shepard at the man's side. This was no attempt to look cool. The man was blind.

"Feliciano, what are you doing here?" The Angry Italian demanded, crossing his arms and addressing the blind guy, who was apparently his... brother.

"Well, um..." Feliciano appeared to be thinking. "Oh, that's right! I wanted some coffee. But you're yelling at the barista! Lovino, it's terribly unkind. Please, stop!"

"Okay, okay!" Lovino - so that was his name? - snapped. "Don't get upset." He turned back to the British guy, glaring. "I'm leaving, but I won't forget that you screwed up my order! I won't be coming back!"

"Thank God," the barista muttered, rolling his emerald-colored eyes and sighing. He turned around to walk into the back of the Starbucks. "Gilbert, get the next customer, would you?" he called, barely glancing at Matthew before disappearing.

"Sure, sure!" the other staff member replied, turning to Matthew. "What can I-" he broke off.

"Eh? Is everything alright?" Matthew asked, tapping the counter.

Gilbert shook his head. "Oh - I'm fine, sorry," he laughed. "So, what can I get you?"

"A brownie and a tall iced coffee," Matthew replied.

Gilbert nodded. _Just like last time... Plus the brownie. Oh, Gott, why do I remember what he ordered? This is so creepy... _

"My name is Matthew," Matthew prompted, then stepped out of the way to let Feliciano order. Gilbert saw Feliciano's familiar sunglasses and guide dog and his face relaxed into a smile. Feliciano came to that particular Starbucks often. He was always polite, kind, and usually calmed down his brother's noisy screaming rampages (Despite Lovino's constant threats to never return, he always came back within the week.) In fact, Feliciano had once invited him to a restaurant to hear a band play. They were good friends.

"The usual, Feli?"

"Yes please!"

Gilbert and Feliciano chatted for a few minutes, and Gilbert was dimly aware of Matthew listening in on the conversation. Finally, Gilbert finished Matthew's order and called him back to the counter. Feliciano walked away, staking out an empty table.

"You... you two were talking about Morandi?" Matthew questioned quietly.

Gilbert was surprised. "Giorgio Morandi? Yes, we were. You know him?"

Matthew nodded. "I'm learning about him in my Art History class, actually. He's the Italian artist, isn't he? Oh... I'm sorry for eavesdropping."

"Don't be sorry. It's refreshing to meet people who know about different artists," Gilbert said, handing over Matthew's coffee. "Feliciano and I love talking about art. I'm an artist, actually. And a writer. This is just a side job."

"You?" Matthew couldn't hide the surprise on his face. "You're an artist?"

Gilbert laughed. "What, do I not look like one?"

"And a writer?" Matthew was incredulous at this point. He was glad there wasn't a line waiting to order, because he wanted to hear this.

"Yeah," Gilbert responded, shuffling around behind the counter, filling Feliciano's order. "I publish a lot of stuff online, and I'm working on a novel, actually."

Matthew smiled. He hadn't smiled in a while, except for those fake smiles for Miss Braginskaya. "I love reading. What do you write?"

Gilbert shrugged, but he seemed pleased that someone appreciated his work. "Oh, everything, really. I like to write about things that people will remember. Things people will feel impacted by." He snorted. "Unfortunately, lots of people think they're too awesome to succumb to the power of reading. Also, you don't have to, but, um, my name is Gilbert Beilschmidt, so feel free to look up some of my work if you want to..."

"Sure, I will," Matthew lied. He probably wouldn't. It wasn't personal at all. He just never really did much of the stuff he said he would. He took the coffee and was about to sit down at an empty table when he heard Feliciano call, "Want to sit with me?"

Matthew walked over, unsure. "Alright..." How had Feliciano known he was looking for a seat?

"I heard you talking with Gilbert, then I heard your footsteps," Feliciano laughed. "Don't worry. It would be nice, actually. I'm lonely most of the time."

The Canadian felt a pang of sympathy and understanding. He pulled out the chair across from Feliciano, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.

Being social for a little while wouldn't kill him, would it? And even if it did, it would spare Matthew the job of having to do it himself...

* * *

"So, I see that guy came back, huh?" Arthur asked.

Gilbert nodded. "Yeah."

"Why were you so interested in him again?"

"I don't know!" snapped Gilbert. "Mind your own business, Kirkland."

Arthur held up both of his hands. "Goodness."

"I was worried about him, okay?" Gilbert sighed. "At least, I think. But he seemed completely normal just now."

"What, did you two talk or something?"

"Yeah. About art. Now he's sitting with Feliciano."

"The blind guy?"

"Arthur." Gilbert's tone was borderline pissed. Arthur could be so annoying! Just because he was two years older than Gilbert and well on his way to becoming a lawyer, he thought it meant he could boss the artist around whenever he pleased. So what if he won nearly every argument? Still...

"Sorry, sorry." Arthur peered out to the table where Feliciano and Matthew were sitting. "What's his name again? He looks sort of familiar."

"Matthew."

"What is he, a high school student?"

"He said he took Art History, so I guess he is," Gilbert guessed.

"So, you two are best friends now?"

"No. We're not even acquaintances."

"You sound disappointed about that," Arthur began. "Like you want-"

"Just look at the time," Gilbert snorted, checking his watch. "My shift's over, how about that! See you tomorrow, Arthur!"

"But Mathias said he was going to be late, and-" Arthur began, but Gilbert cut him off.

"I'm leaving," he interrupted.

"Oh, come on," Arthur retorted. "I was only joking. I know you're not gay, and I know your heart belongs to"-

"Enough, Arthur," Gilbert snarled, his voice becoming nearly incomprehensible, tainted by a dangerous, guttural German accent.

The Brit threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. Do what you want. Leave poor little me here in the Starbucks by myself. Who knows when Mathias will get here... And what if we have another crazy one like Lovino show up again?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but he forgave his coworker. "You're one sorry old man, Kirkland."

Arthur grinned. "Oh, I know."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I wrote this in one sitting, but please enjoy and review! Confession time - I've never been to Starbucks, so if I get stuff wrong, feel free to correct me. (But maybe if the Fail Brothers Trio worked Starbucks in real life, I'd actually go.) I don't really agree with some of the logic in this chapter... Oh well!

* * *

The last thing Matthew wanted to do was work on his pre-calculus homework. He'd rather... well, I'm not going to go into detail, but there were a lot of things that Matthew would rather be doing than solving another page filled with dense formulas.

Sighing, the half-Canadian shoved his pre-calc textbook to one side of his desk and opened his laptop, massaging his forehead.

As he scrolled through random Internet pages, trying to find something interesting he could procrastinate to, his thoughts plagued him. The end of eleventh grade.

He had decided on the day he would end it all. The last day of school. Actually, the day after the last day of school. That way, he could go to school on the last day - which was both the last day of school and his last day of life - and make not-too-obvious amends. Not that there were even that many people he'd need to talk to. He planned to buy Kiku a manga and deliver it with a soft smile, and thank Miss Braginskaya for not kicking him out all year. He didn't really know what else he was going to do, but it was only December. He still had months and months to think through it.

Bored, Matthew opened a new page and searched 'Gilbert Beilschmidt.' Why not? Besides, he had his standards set pretty low. The art probably wouldn't be that good.

Several images popped up, and Matthew clicked on them. Rows and rows of paintings, drawings, and sketches began to fill the screen. This was not what Matthew expected from a Starbucks worker. He began looking through them. They were gorgeous - all of them. Even the discarded, smeared charcoal sketches, even the abandoned paintings.

Among the finished pieces, Matthew saw a painting of the sprawling German countryside; a portrait of a beautiful girl with wavy brown hair, green eyes, and a carefree smile; a graphite drawing of Feliciano's service dog; a depiction of a young blonde guy with slicked back hair standing in the rain.

Matthew was scrolling through the breathtaking studies for fifteen minutes before he remembered that Gilbert had said he was a writer, too. He switched back to the web search and found Gilbert's website, filled with various writing entries, short stories, scripts, you name it. Matthew was starting to feel so very untalented.

Most of Gilbert's short stories or little web entries seemed to be about the varying themes of happiness, love, art, friendship. Stuff Matthew didn't really believe in.

Until a particular entry caught his eye. It was a short story, more of a blog post, really. The title:

_"What A Tragic Thing To Do"_

* * *

Gilbert had just settled down in his apartment with a glass of water and a half-finished canvas. He was working on a painting of a cherry blossom tree, entitled _Spring II. Spring I_ had sold for a huge amount of money, and that one had been of a patch of sunflowers. Some Russian lady had bought it for her brother.

There was a knock on the door, barely distinguishable over the noise of the rain. Gilbert set his palette down and stood up. Huh. He usually didn't get visitors unless he invited them over. He opened the door and there stood Mathias Køhler, Gilbert's friend/kind-of-not-really coworker. They worked the same job. Never at the same time. And they hadn't met through work. They had gone to high school together.

"Everything okay?"

Mathias shook his head slightly, rain dripping down his shoulders and face. "N-not really."

"Come inside," Gilbert sighed, ushering the Dane into his apartment. "Now, what's the matter?"

"Lukas broke up with me," Mathias said shakily, sitting down on the couch.

Gilbert sighed. He suspected that would be happening soon, but he didn't dare say this to Mathias. "Why?"

"He - he's going to college, you know. But he's moving to Norway. That's where he was born. He said he didn't want to stay in the United States. He's... I said we could try, but who am I kidding. Moving to another state, that's one thing. But another continent? We can't... This is terrible."

Gilbert sat next to Mathias and sympathetically listened to him ramble. Really, it wasn't a surprise. Mathias was nineteen, two years older than Lukas - age seventeen - who was a senior in high school. And if he was moving back to Norway for college, well then. Mathias, like Gilbert, hadn't gone to college, but he was taking night classes.

"Look, I know you've got your own apartment and stuff, but if it makes you feel better, you can stay here for the night." Gilbert stood up and walked back to the kitchen table. "However, I have to work."

Still, Gilbert listened to Mathias' distressed comments while he was painting.

"Do you think Lukas would like me better if I were a girl? I think it always bothered him, at least a little, that we... you know... we're both guys. Anyways, I wouldn't like him any better if he were a girl. Maybe it would be the same. I don't know. What do ya think?"

"Ich weiß nicht," Gilbert sighed, growing listless of Mathias' comments.

"Ja, ja, es tut mir leid," Mathias replied sarcastically. Gilbert cringed. He always - _always _- forgot that Mathias spoke German, so any sarcastic comments he made in his first language did not go unnoticed.

"Sorry," Gilbert apologized. "But... maybe it's for the better."

"Hvad?! How can you say that?!"

"Look, look..." Gilbert placed his paintbrush on the table and turned to face Mathias. He wanted to say, 'I don't know if Lukas ever really even liked you,' but he didn't have the energy for that kind of cruelty, and besides, what kind of friend would that make him? "I'm sure you'll find someone else," Gilbert sighed.

Mathias rolled his eyes. "You're so basic."

* * *

Matthew had been contemplating _What A Tragic Thing To Do _for half an hour, pre-calc homework forgotten. It was so painful, so terribly realistic. This is how it began.

_Have you ever looked around - just taken a really good, long look around - and thought about your life?_

_It works better when you're in a crowded area. It works better when there are people around you. You fake a smile and force a laugh so that no one becomes suspicious, but inside, you are planning. Plotting. Dreaming. But these are not dreams of sugar plum fairies. They are dreams of the end._

This much was true. Matthew had to wonder if Gilbert was suicidal. If not, he was one very good writer.

_So you hide your desires of the 'end' and carry on with your life. No one else knows that any day they spend with you could be the last._

_But back to what I was saying about having a good look around. Every person out there - every single one - has the most intricate of stories, just like you. Everyone has had fractured bones and failed tests and rejected job applications. Or broken hearts and bad dates and an awkward first kiss._

_You have your own story, one you've spent so long creating, one you've spent so long fixing._

_What a tragic thing to do, to throw it away. What a tragic thing to do, to waste the most precious gift you were given._

Matthew hated it. He hated the story so much. He was staring to hate Gilbert Beilschmidt, too. Gilbert could think he knew what he was talking about, but he didn't. Not at all. Life wasn't the most precious gift.

In Matthew's opinion, the ultimate gift was free will - the right to be able to do whatever you wanted. Humans had that, to some extent. Of course, you still had to abide the law. You couldn't just go out and have a slaughter fest. But free will: the right to believe in whatever you wanted, love who you wanted, listen to what you liked.

Free will was the best gift. Free will: the choice to do whatever you wanted with your life.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Glad to see you guys again! Please review... please? It'd make my day! And I made Mathias a photographer because, why not?

* * *

"What can I get you?" Mathias rubbed his eyes, held back a yawn, and looked up at the next customer.

"Um, actually-" the kid glanced backwards, and seeing that there wasn't a line, he said, "Does Gilbert Beilschmidt work here?"

Mathias' eyes widened in surprise. "Yes, he does, but his shift ended a half hour ago. If you'd like to tell him something, I can deliver a message." Finally, Mathias couldn't help it and yawned. He had ended up staying on Gilbert's couch just so he wouldn't be alone, and when Gilbert left for work, Mathias went grocery shopping, then drove to Puget Sound to take some pictures for an upcoming gallery. Maybe that was why he and Gilbert got along so well - they were both interested in art (Gilbert liked literature and visual arts, and Mathias liked photography), and Mathias always shot Gilbert's finished pieces so that the latter could put them on his website.

"Oh, do you know him?"

Mathias yawned again. He had stayed up late. "Yeah, we went to high school together."

"Great..." the customer trailed off. "Mention to him that, uh, I stopped by - oh, right. My name is Matthew Williams. Just tell him about _What A Tragic Thing To Do." _

"What's that?"

"He'll understand. Tell him I disliked it. Thanks."

"Okay. I will..." Mathias trailed off uncertainly. The kid nodded and walked back out the door.

Arthur looked over. "He's here again?"

"Yeah, who is that?"

"Some friend of Gilbert's. Or an acquaintance, he said. He stops around sometimes, usually when you're not on shift."

"Strange."

* * *

Matthew gathered his courage and scrolled through his contacts until he found Alfred's number. He dialed, and holding the phone to his ear, flopped back against his bed.

"Hey, Mattie! What's up?"

Matthew forced himself to sound cheerful. "Hey, not much. How's college?"

"Good! But people have some serious road rage up here, dude. It's not even funny. I was going to eat with some friends yesterday, and some douche nearly took off my bumper! That's Boston, though, I guess. How's your junior year? Any hot girls? Do you like your teachers?"

"Um..." Matthew trailed off. Alfred was always very outgoing and talkative. He decided to cut to the chase. "I need help."

Alfred laughed. "Sure, bro! What's the matter?"

Matthew was tempted - very tempted - to mention death or depression or how terrible life was going. Alfred seemed so welcoming and warm... understanding. But Matthew didn't dare. Instead, at the last second, he lied. "Uh, parties. I'm going to a house party tomorrow night. What should I do? Just in general..."

"Your first house party, huh? No prob! Let's see..."

The rest of the conversation went that way - Alfred giving Matthew tips for the 'upcoming' party, and Matthew sitting miserably on his bed, wishing he had told the truth.

* * *

"Oh, you're finally here." Gilbert rolled his eyes dramatically. "I was about to die. You're late."

"Sorry. Sorry!" Mathias moved behind the counter. "Arthur didn't call me until last minute, and it is a Friday, you know."

"I'm aware." Gilbert shook his head. "Why did Arthur need you to switch shifts with him again?"

"He's sick. He has the flu... or something." Mathias shrugged. "Since our shifts overlap, I guess someone else will be coming in after you leave. Hey, did I tell you about Matthew?"

Gilbert stopped. "No, what?"

"Yeah, that's right. Matthew - some kid - stopped in here yesterday, and told me to tell you about... _What A Terrible Thing To Do?" _

"'Tragic,' you mean?" Gilbert questioned.

"Oh, yeah! It was 'Tragic', not 'Terrible'. So you get it?"

"Yeah... what about it?"

"He didn't like it."

"Oh." Gilbert frowned. That felt pretty personal. As an artist, Gilbert knew it probably wasn't, but it never felt good to know someone disliked your work. "Did he say why?"

Mathias considered this. "Nope. Came in, didn't order anything, and left. I don't blame him, this stuff isn't so great..."

Gilbert ignored the Dane. "Hmm. I wonder why he didn't like it."

"What is _What A Tragic Thing To Do?" _

"It's a - well, not a story, really," Gilbert mused. "More like a blog entry I wrote. Dealing with suicide and what a waste it is."

"Hmm. Not the kindest way you could have said that, but a good lesson, I suppose," Mathias replied, opening a package of plastic utensils. "Maybe Matthew's suicidal. Maybe he didn't like what the post had to say. Don't look at me like that! It's possible."

"Sorry," Gilbert said, averting his eyes to the door, pretending to watch for customers. In truth, he hadn't meant to glare at Mathias. But what the Scandinavian was saying made a lot of sense. The hollow look in Matthew's eyes, the dislike of the story... but those little things hardly meant anything. But, still, _maybe... _

"Did you know it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow?" Mathias asked, clueless to Gilbert's worry.

"The weathermen are never right," Gilbert snorted. "You actually believe that stuff?"

Mathias inhaled sharply. "Why are you in such a bad mood all of a sudden?"

"I must be catching whatever sickness Arthur got..."

"What's that? Sarcasm?" Mathias joked. "Oh, well. Whatever. What time is it?"

"Eleven-twenty. We'll get lunch break in forty. And, I'm begging you, behave normally. My friend is visiting today."

This piqued Mathias' interest. "Your friend? What's his name? Where is he visiting from?"

"Her name is Elizaveta," Gilbert said pointedly. "She's visiting from Hungary."

"Ohhh." Mathias grinned. "She's a girl... and this is why you want me to act normally? As opposed to how I normally act...? Haha!" Mathias laughed when Gilbert swatted his shoulder. "So, what time is she getting here?"

"I - I don't know. She said around twelve!" Gilbert stammered, red in the face. "She called me yesterday. But, yeah, whenever. She's really busy."

"She's busy? What's her last name, again?"

"Héderváry."

"Elizaveta Héderváry? You're friends with _Elizaveta Héderváry?" _

"Oh, ja? You're surprised that I have an A-Lister friend?" Gilbert snickered. "Before you ask, yes, this is the singer we're talking about. How do you know her?"

Mathias almost looked offended. "Remember, Gilbert, I grew up in Denmark! And I still visit every year and keep up with all the Danish news. Of course I know who Elizaveta Héderváry is. Everyone who lives in Europe does!"

Well, it was true. Gilbert and Elizaveta had been very close friends when they were younger, but then they had gone to different high schools, so Elizaveta didn't really know any of Gilbert's post-middle school friends. Instead of going to college, Elizaveta had moved back to Hungary, where she had been born, and through a series of complicated and coincidental events, she had been able to record a debut album. Hungarians seemed to really like her, and she was touring all over Europe. But she promised to come visit America from time to time.

Gilbert would never admit it, but he probably admired Elizaveta more than anyone else in his life. Elizaveta had had a shitty childhood - a violent childhood - but she refused to look at it negatively. She never seemed to complain about it, either, and always talked about how lucky she was. And yes, not everyone had fame and fortune, but not everyone had a devastating childhood, either.

"Well, yes..." Gilbert and Mathias looked at each other silently and then burst out laughing.

"Why didn't you mention you knew her?" Mathias asked, arranging a row of paper cups.

"The topic never came up."

"This is stupid, but can I meet her?"

Mathias looked so hopeful that Gilbert couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him. "Sure. Of course."

The two friends chatted between customers and jobs that needed to be done. Gilbert found himself forgetting all about Matthew, about suicide, about the tragedy of 'throwing your life away with both hands', and occupied his mind with lighter, more welcoming thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Guys, I'm so excited - I changed the cover image for this story, because I found a picture of Canada drinking Starbucks! It's so perfect for this story, I just-! As an added note, Hiroki Honda was made up for the sake of the story. Thanks for reading; please enjoy and review!

* * *

"Gilbert! Hi!"

The door of the Starbucks swung open and a gust of cold air rushed into the coffeehouse. Gilbert looked up from the cash register where he had been idly standing for the past few minutes, disinterested by the lack of customers. He smiled. "Elizaveta! Hey!"

The Hungarian singer looked just as perfect as ever. Her brown hair hung down her back in gentle waves, and despite the fact that she was probably jetlagged, a grin lit up her face. "Sorry! I didn't know you were still on shift. I can come back in an hour or two"-

"Nein, nein! That's fine," Gilbert said quickly. "There's no one here, anyways, and my lunch break is in ten minutes. So how have you been? What's up?!"

"Ah, tired. Fame is tiring! But I'm lucky, I know! I'm glad to be in America, where fewer people recognize me. And you? You've been okay yourself, I hope?"

Gilbert groaned. "Ugh, working with Mathias is tiring."

"Who?"

"High school friend. He works here, too, but he's on his lunch break. Actually, he wants to meet you."

"Sure, no problem." Elizaveta sat down at a table near the register where Gilbert was. Gilbert was happy to see his old friend and vice versa, and they spent the next ten minutes talking. It had been nearly a year since they'd last seen each other. Gilbert was just about to take his lunch break, too, knowing Mathias would be back any second, when a customer walked through the door. "I'll get them really quick," Gilbert said to Elizaveta. She nodded.

Gilbert's heart jumped when he saw Matthew walk through the door. Of course._ Of freaking course._

"Hello, Matthew," Gilbert said, trying to forget Matthew's comment about _What A Tragic Thing To Do. _

Matthew's eyes widened. "So we're on a first-name basis, eh?" He wasn't sarcastic. Just surprised.

Elizaveta smiled. "Is this one of your friends?"

"N-not really," Gilbert said. "I mean... well... no...?"

"No," Matthew clarified, then turned to Elizaveta. "Hey, I think I recognize you. Sorry if this sounds rude, but aren't you a European singer?"

Elizaveta nodded. "Yes, I'm Elizaveta. Nice to meet you, Matthew! It was Matthew, wasn't it?"

Gilbert interrupted. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"What makes you think that?"

"You're a high schooler, aren't you?" Gilbert questioned incredulously.

"Oh! I am. I'm a junior, but we're on break now. Winter break. It started yesterday. So I don't really have anywhere I need to be."

Elizaveta raised an eyebrow. "What school starts winter break on a Friday?"

As if the situation could get any worse, Mathias walked in at that second, took in the scene, and made a rather accurate assumption. "Hey, you're the kid who insulted Gilbert's story thing, right? Gilbert, go take your lunch break! And, you must be Elizaveta!" Mathias smiled and walked over to the three others. Gilbert sighed.

"Hi. Are you Mathias?" Elizaveta asked, extending her hand. Mathias shook it and said, "Ja, that's me!"

"Okay, this is too much." Gilbert shoved his way around Mathias and began walking to the front door. "Mathias, take care of Matthew! I'm going to get lunch! Ready to go, Elizaveta?"

"Right, right! Maybe I'll see you guys later," Elizaveta added. She and Gilbert walked outside, sticking under store overhangs to avoid the rain, and found a nice pizza parlor about a block away.

"You've made lots of interesting new friends!" Elizaveta said as the two sat down in a booth.

"Well, Matthew isn't really a friend..."

Elizaveta looked up from her menu. "Is he alright? He looked kind of... kind of dejected, you know. Down in the dumps."

"Yeah. He... I haven't spoken to him that much. He's just a customer who has started coming to Starbucks a lot, but he seems kind of depressed. And quiet. And he's a high schooler. It's a recipe for disaster. Maybe."

"Hmm..."

"He didn't like something I made."

Curiosity crossed Elizaveta's face. "Art or literature?"

"Something I wrote. Something about suicide."

Alarm replaced curiosity, and Elizaveta stood up. "I think he's suicidal, Gilbert. I really do. Call it instinct, but... do you think he's still at Starbucks?"

"What? I don't know."

"Well, shouldn't we go talk to him?" Elizaveta pressed.

"What if he isn't - depressed? Wouldn't that just be awkward? Besides, Elizaveta, he's a virtual stranger, and it's not... he's... it's not our place to confront him about things like that. I'm sure someone else cares. Like I said, I barely know him, and you only just met him! He's not our problem."

A shadow of pain flashed through Elizaveta's eyes. "Gilbert," she whispered, still standing up, "remember Hiroki Honda?"

Gilbert's face paled.

"What if it's like that? We have to talk to Matthew!"

"NO, Elizaveta. We'll just wait and see. How long are you staying in America?"

"A week."

"Okay, look. I'm positive Matthew will come back to Starbucks while you're staying here. At least once. If you still think something's wrong, you can talk to him."

"But you won't be working all week"-

"I know." Gilbert sighed in frustration. The conversation had not gone where he had wanted it to. Instead of discussing, oh, I don't know, art or music or funny jokes with terrible punchlines, they were talking about Matthew Williams and whether or not he seemed suicidal. Yes, Gilbert had told Elizaveta he would be taking a few days off work that week so they could explore the city, have fun, etc., but if they were going to obsess over Matthew, it was going to be pretty sad. "Look, Eliza, why do you even care?"

"Hiroki," Elizaveta whispered. "Gilbert, don't you - don't you think...?"

Gilbert flinched. Hiroki Honda, Gilbert Beilschmidt, and Elizaveta Héderváry had all gone to the same middle school, but they broke apart to attend different high schools. Well, Gilbert had, but Elizaveta and Hiroki ended up at the same school. They were all friends, but Hiroki tended to be more of a third wheel. In tenth grade, Hiroki killed himself. Elizaveta had been beside herself with guilt, and even four years after that incident, she still felt bad about it; still blamed herself for not noticing anything.

"I'm sure Matthew is fine," Gilbert insisted, but he wasn't so sure himself. He was worried, ever since he had seen the Canadian's eyes that first time. But Matthew wasn't his problem! "Come on, Elizaveta. If he comes back to Starbucks while I'm working, I promise I'll talk to him."

Elizaveta didn't look convinced. "Cross your heart, hope to die?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for not updating for a bit - but I'm back! I hope you enjoy; please review if you've got time, too! And are there any more couples you'd like to see?

* * *

The door was kicked open forcefully, followed by a crash and a loud exclamation of pain.

Amelia Jones smiled, holding her arms out. "Alfred, it's so good to see you! How have you been, sweetie? How's Boston? Oh - close the door, dear, you're letting all the cold air and rain in - make yourself at home - do you want me to get your bags?"

"Mom, Mom!" Alfred said, embracing his mother and then waving a hand. "I'm fine. I'll get it. Hey, Dad! Hey, Matt! Why do you look so surprised?"

Matthew shrugged. "Oh, I - I just forgot you were coming home for Christmas."

Alfred chuckled. "Rude!" he joked. "You forgot your own brother?"

Matthew smiled nervously. Ever since Alfred had left for college - a year and a half ago, since Alfred was now a sophomore - Matthew found it much more difficult to act natural and communicate with his brother. It just didn't feel right, and it was a shame.

"I ordered pizza!" Amelia exclaimed excitedly. "Oh, Alfred, we're so happy to have you back! This is going to be a wonderful Christmas. Look at the new Christmas tree lights we bought - and I fixed the hole in your old stocking. So, you never told me, how's college going? Did you see a lot of your friends?"

Matthew trailed after his family, exiting the entry hallway and heading to the family room. He could hear Alfred's comments about his dorm and professors and ex-girlfriend(s); his mother's concerned exclamations; his father's hearty laughter.

It almost made him want to stick around for a few more years. See how life went.

Almost, but not quite.

* * *

"What puts you in such a good mood today, dolt?" Arthur asked.

"It's a nice day," Gilbert said. _And there's been no sign of Matthew at all. Wonderful! _

"Hmm," Arthur commented. "It's storming like normal. I don't see how that's a good day, but, whatever. Okay, I need to leave work early today, so Mathias is coming to fill in for me around, oh, twelve o'clock?"

Gilbert considered this. "You've gotten so many shift switches lately. How are you even working enough hours a week for pay?"

Arthur sighed and smiled, turning to look his friend in the eye. "Gilbert, um. Today's my last day working here. I'm quitting."

"Uh-huh. Wait, _WHAT?!"_

"Gilbert," Arthur said again, with the pleasant expression still on his face. "I passed my bar exam last week. It's over."

"Huh...? Oh! _Oh!_ Congratulations!" Gilbert exclaimed, hugging his friend. "I'm happy for you." He stepped back and took a good look at Arthur. The Brit was going to be a lawyer. The fleeting days of coffee aromas and Free WiFi were coming to an end, and Arthur's future was now filled with suits and ties and law.

Yet Gilbert really was happy for Arthur.

"Thank you, but there's just one more thing."

"Oh? Yeah?"

"Obviously, Mathias can't replace me forever. He has to return to his own shift. I'm not supposed to know stuff like this, but the boss mentioned to me who's taking my place. Do you know, Gilbert, who you're going to be stuck working with instead of me from now on?"

Gilbert felt dread building up in his chest. "Who?"

Arthur looked sympathetic. "A kid named Matthew Williams. Sound familiar?"

* * *

The Starbucks was closed, but Gilbert and Mathias were still in the coffeehouse, cleaning and closing the store while chatting. Thanks to Arthur's sudden job change, everyone's shifts were pretty screwed up.

"And, I mean, can you believe Matthew Williams took a job? Especially here! Remember Matthew? You do? Oh, I know Elizaveta's just going to-"

"Argh, Gilbert, shut up! I can't listen to this anymore." Mathias glared at his 'Prussian' friend (Gilbert always insisted he was Prussian because he had distant, ancient ancestors from the former country, and he thought it sounded cooler than 'German'). "Just talk to the kid, for God's sake! When does he start?"

"In two days."

"So that's okay! Aren't you taking the rest of this week off to hang out with Elizaveta? Someone else is filling in for you."

"Yeah, but - he'll be here when I get back."

Mathias shrugged. "Inevitable, Gil. Suck it up. Or at least quit whining about it. Anyways, I need a favor."

"A favor, huh?" Gilbert began sorting the cash in the register. "Shoot."

"I'm going to try to get Lukas back."

Gilbert laughed - loudly - and clasped a hand over his mouth, seeing Mathias' disdainful expression. "A-alright, may I ask how?"

"Well, I need your help!"

"Oh, dammit, Mathias! How am I supposed to help you? Just give up."

Mathias yanked the broom violently across the floor. "Give up?" he wailed. "But... Lukas is always doing stupid stuff like breaking up with me. I'll change his mind like every other time! It's fine, really, I just need a bit of help."

"Mathias," Gilbert snapped. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

"I don't!" he protested. "Things just happen to me. Why?"

"No, they don't!" Gilbert was growing frustrated. "You're the one who keeps forcing the poor kid into some relationship. You two have talked about breaking up before, and every time, you convince him not to! What if he wanted a normal high school experience? You're robbing him of everything! You should be happy he's doing what he wants; moving back to Norway and going to college. Have you ever considered the fact that you're dragging him down?"

Gilbert regretted the words the instant he saw Mathias' face.

His friend was staring out the dark window of the coffee shop, looking at the streetlights and cars splashing through puddles, tears pricking at his blue eyes.

"Mathias, I'm sorry-"

"No." Mathias threw the broom down. "Finish this yourself. I'll take some of your shift when you get back to make up for it, but right now, I can't stand to be in the same room with you."

"Mathias," Gilbert begged again. "I didn't mean-"

"Whatever." Mathias pulled his car keys out of his pocket and exited the Starbucks, leaving Gilbert alone.

Gilbert found himself asking the same question the Dane had just been pondering:

_Why do these things happen to me? Why, why, why?_


End file.
